Weight(y) Matters

This has been spinning around in my head for some time. Over the last 8 years I have lost a total of 43kg. When I started weight watchers for the first time I weighed 104kg and was a size 18-20. This morning I weighed 61kg and I'm a size 10.

People keep asking me how I did it. Well, as the above states, it took a fair amount of time. But not as long as it looks, because it's not like I was trying to lose weight for all those years! I started weight watchers in (I think) 2004. I have no idea what prompted it - maybe watching Dad struggle with his weight I realised I didn't want that for myself. Mainly I suspect it's because I was sick of struggling to find clothes that fit - I must admit that I am quite vain. It is really hard being 22 and unable to wear any of the clothes that you would like to because they don't exist in your size. But that's a whole 'nother story (rant). That first time on WW I lost 20kg over about 9 months, got down to 84kg and a size 14, and was very happy with that.

When I was pregnant with Abby I went a little overboard on the eating (comfort eating mainly, I do bad pregnant lady) and put on 15kg. When she was 10 weeks old I went back to good old WW and got down to 74kg. Still a size 14 though, which drove me bonkers. But hey, I was fit and healthy and could buy clothes from 'standard' stores, so I was happy.

With William, I was soooo sick and tired all the time I just couldn't face the thought of eating. So I only put on 8 kg the entire pregnancy, 6 of which I lost within weeks of him being born. But now I was determined to get down to my 'healthy' weight, which for me is (apparently) between 51-64kg. I know, I KNOW that the whole BMI thing is a load of crap, that it is meant to be used as a measure of population change not as a perscriptive guide to an individual's weight, but I'm a goal orientated person and I needed a number. So I chose one.

How did I do it? Good question. I think what it comes down to is that I wanted to lose weight more than I wanted to eat more than I needed to. Seriously, that's all it was in the end. I could exercise, meditate and affirm myself to my hearts content but as long as I was eating more than I needed to my weight was not going to change. I wanted to lose weight for me - not because society told me I 'should', not because my best friend or work colleague or random celebrity was, but because I felt that it was time. Time for me to make some positive changes to my life. And I had to want it badly enough to override all the other parts of me that would say 'oh come on, just one slice won't hurt' or 'I'll go for a walk tomorrow and that will make up for it' or 'but I really really want it and denying youself never works anyway'.

William is now 10.5 months old and I am a size 10 for the first time in my life. I've maintained this weight for 2 months so far and it looks like I'll stay this way, The wierd thing though is that despite my size and weight, I'm still the same person I was when I was 22, just 8 years older.

You see, to me, a size 10 was like the holy grail of weight loss. Somehow, when I reached it I would become taller, blonder, smoother, more tanned... because size 10 is model material. People who were small didn't have any body problems - I'm not talking about those sad souls who struggle with eating disorders but those who are naturally (or unnaturally) built small enough to fit into this magic size. I would look at all the beautiful clothes in the magazines, and the even more beautiful people wearing them, and imagine that I would be just like them if I could only shift that last 20/10/5kg.

Of course, I didn't realise all this was going through my head until I reached my current size and was a little bemused to discover that I'm still me. I have horrible skin. I have brown hair and I'm so pale I practically grow in the dark. And you know what? I still have a wobbly, saggy tum. I still have flaps of flesh under my arms. And my butt still looks like an undercooked cake covered in lumpy frosting.

And I still love my body.

I can do high kicks and break boards. I can lift my children and squash them till they're breathless. I can run quite a distance (in an appropriate bra) and I can kick the arse of any foolish teenager who thinks I'm an easy target because I'm short and (now) slight. (You see this black belt? You SEE this black belt? You wanna take me on? HUH?).

Am I healthier, fitter, stronger now than I was as a size 14? I don't know. I will always get sick a lot, that's just the way my body works. But I sure eat a hell of a lot better than I used to, and if I have eaten half a roll of uncooked peanut paste/choc chip biccies today I'll work it off tomorrow. I no longer beat myself up about the occasional slice of pizza or piece of cake, because it really is occasional. And if I know I want to comfort eat I'll reach for the apricots or the nuts instead of the chips or chocolate.

I'm more flexible now. I can kick almost over my shoulder, which is a new and somewhat frightening experience. I can run further, although I'm not sure how much of that is general fitness and how much is because my poor breasts are finally starting to get a little smaller.

I guess the most important thing is though, am I happier?

Am I?

You know what, I think I am. Because I am finally treating my body the way it deserves to be treated. Because I know my kids will grow up seeing a mother who is comfortable an secure in her body and who eats well, not to lose weight but as a natural response to hunger.

And I can fit in to size 10 skinny jeans. So you'll have to excuse me while my size ten butt walks over to the oven. There's some biccies a-bakin'.